Pardon my French
by thecatsayswoof
Summary: Some naughty student has spiked the punch at Slughorns Christmas party. Two people whose paths have never even crossed before find themselves in a precarious predicament.


Pardon my French

Summary: Some naughty student has spiked the punch at Slughorns Christmas party. Two people whose paths have never even crossed before find themselves in a precarious predicament.

AN: I've discovered I actually fiercely dislike fannon Blaise. If some kind reader could point me towards some cannon!Blaise/Hermione I would be eternally grateful.

**unbetaed**

First of all Hermione was fairly certain her tongue had been replaced with a fuzzy bitter caterpillar. The taste alone was enough to wake her up. Secondly this pillow was the best pillow in all the world of pillows, no question what so ever.

Hazy hazel eyes struggled to open, each lid feeling like small hippos very trying to hold them down. _Oh yes,_ Hermione thought slowly, flexing her fingers against the warm pillow and finally getting a focus on her surroundings, _someone definitely spiked the punch and someone is _definitely_ going to pay for it._

The first thing she noticed was that the searing and rather solid mass she was half laying on seemed to be breathing. Her usually highly informative brain told her that something was odd about that but oooh look how lovely her pale arm looks against this warm chocolate brown skin! And such a gorgeous torso…flat and firm without too much hair or obscene muscle.

A small from made its way to the girls petite lips. Warm. Breathing. Torso. Why this wasn't a pillow at all! She was lying on a male's naked torso, that warmth penetrating her own body suggesting she was in a similar state. With that pesky mystery solved the girl of the Golden Trio smiled in triumph and closed her eyes again. She had almost had a fright there but McLaggen didn't have such deliciously contrasting skin or a lean cat-like body. Nope, she had definitely not been drunkenly drug off by that highly handsy idiot.

Her eyes opened slowly, getting wider and wider in what would have been a comical sight, _but then…who _am_ I in bed with?_

Blaise Zabini was having a wonderful dream. He was warm and snug and almost, dare he say it, safe feeling, holding onto a girl he couldn't quite remember. She wasn't a Slytherin, he knew that much. As much as he focused on appearance he would be the first to admit that his fellow snakes often over did it, like Malfoy and his tons of hair grease and Pansy with enough perfume to knock out a charging Ridge Back. No, this girl had a subtle scent more like rain and parchment than expensive perfume and he could tell her hands, while small and soft, were sprinkled with the rough spots of someone who actually knew the meaning of work. Not a Slytherin.

His warm lithe prize seemed to be moving…escape so soon? He thought not. The arm that had previously been slack under her suddenly came up, crushing the girl to his torso and earning a sound like a mouse being stepped on from her. That was better. Nice little body fit so perfectly against his. Now where was he? Oh yes.

He hoped he hadn't snagged a Hufflepuff in his less than sober state. He wasn't drunk mind you, a Zabini never gets drunk! But whatever Malfoy had snuck in the punch had quite a bit more kick than he had been expecting. No no not a puff, they were almost all stocky and avoided him like the bloody plague. This girl seemed almost underfed and had obviously come along with him willingly.

A Ravenclaw? he mused, burying his nose in the soft tickly hair of this as yet unknown girl. Smelled like…coconut and ink. Weird but oddly enticing. Blaise finally began to open his eyes, the light brown irises catching glimmers of autumn red in dim light of a single torch. Might as well face the music and see who he had ended up with.

Hair. A whole lot of hair, light golden brown curls spilling down a creamy pale back and over ever so faintly freckled shoulders. well that was nice…he liked the look of this morning already. _Golden brown…a lot like a lions pelt_ he thought, eyes drifting shut again.

Lions pelt.

Lion.

House with a lion crest.

_Gryffindor._

Blaises eyes snapped open so quickly there should have been an audible click. Ever so slowly he looked down into the face of the last person he ever thought he would end up in bed with.

Hermione put on what she hoped was a winning smile as she stared up into the shocked angler face of Blaise Zabini, "Oh hello there. Crazy party huh?" she gave a shaky laugh and tried again to scoot herself away from him, "Well I best be going, early class, you know what they say! Early bird gets the-"

"Granger."

Only a Slytherin could sleepily rumble out her surname in such a strangely seductive manner. He stared for several more seconds before slowly removing the arm pinning her to his ahem less than clothed self and allowing her to bolt to the edge of the bed.

Some small voice in Blaises head (it sounded annoyingly like Malfoy) told him he would burn in Pure-blood hell for enjoying the view presented to him. But dirty blood it not it was _such_ a view…

The little lost Gryffindor had obviously forgotten her lack of clothing and was no perched at the edge of his bed, blanket tucked right under her chin as she mumbled to herself, all her long back exposed to him. The young wizard had been around of course but there was something…breathtaking about the simplicity before him. Her hair had come out of its hair-gel imprisonment at some point and now fell freely along her back and over one shoulder, the soft curls just starting to frizz out again. His eyes wandered from the freckle-peppered shoulders, down the delightfully ridged spine, along a surprisingly lush backside (was that a _bite-mark_? He really needed to remember last night), and back up until he stopped on something he truly hadn't been expecting.

The scar was a shocking pink against her sun starved skin, the edges frayed and nasty with a knotty lump around the middle or so. Zabini had heard some thing or other about Potter getting his friends half killed last year but this was not what he thought that meant. Had the mudblood really almost died? Without even thinking, he blamed the early morning and late alcohol, he reached out to let long dark fingers ghost over the damaged flesh.

He was sure she jumped a good two feet in the air before whipping around to look at him. Blaise Zabini was a pure blood. He believed in the separation of wizard and muggle. But damn if those big, scared doe-eyes of this mudblood didn't make him want to devour her in every sense of the word.

Hermione scooted back a bit more, the predatory gaze of the Slytherin starting to unnerve her, "Well…obviously something happened last night that neither of us intended," she said, using her best bossy voice and trying to inconspicuously look for her wand, "I suggest we move on and forget about this whole ordeal. Good day."

Her voice had been rising the whole time as she struggled to maintain control. She was along with a dark wizard in training, no wand, no clothes even. She felt oddly calm in the knowledge that she was most likely about to die. But then he smiled.

Well to call it a smile was like calling a light drizzle a typhoon but it was a quirk of the lips and a brief flash of oh-so-sharp white teeth. The witch swallowed hard and tried to focus on his face. she hadn't noticed until now that she had pulled his covers down to expose one sharp swoop of a dark hip and the very beginnings of tightly curled hair.

"Granger I don't want people to know about this any more than you do," his voice was low and shockingly soft though she still jumped a bit at hearing him speak, "just get your things and summon a house elf to take you back to your own room."

Light brown eyes narrowed, both at his blasé attitude about house elves and the fact that he was apparently not going to hex the bugeebees out of her. Her glaring was cut short as she had to quickly turn away. It seemed Blaise wanted to scoot out of the bed and Blaise did not care he was butt naked.

"Look…if Potter and Weasley didn't tear me apart first, my own house would do it for them," Hermione tried not to peek, she really did, but her eyes opened just a tad on their own accord, watching as the Italian mix bent down to grab his boxers. Now that was an ass she could get behind, all puns intended. After cursing her traitorously brain she looked away again.

"I suppose I see your point," the brunet mumbled, quickly scooping up her own clothes and dressing at lightning speed, "so…it doesn't leave this room?"

She wished he had at least put a shirt on before turning to answer her, "Snap my wand if it does, Granger."

She nodded slowly, stepping away and pulling out her own wand. With a flick and then a crack like gun shot a house elf appeared, happy to serve. Hermione was less than thrilled but it would have been too much of a risk to try an escape through the Slytherin dungeons.

"Oh and Granger?"

The girl glanced up as she took the elf's tiny hand, "Yes Zabini?"

"Don't think I didn't notice you aren't a virgin…"

Blusshing furiously, the muggle-born took a step forward, mouth open and lecture mode already being warmedup when she paused.

there was Blaise, dressed in only a pair of trousers with one thumb hooked into the belt loop, long smooth torso bent to the side a bit, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

And there, dangling from one exquisitely long finger on his other hand was a scrap of fabric, white with powder blue lines just visible running through it.

"How did you-?!"

"Adieu mon petit livre." he smiled and with a snap the house elf had vanished along with the irate female.

Blaise sighed, looking down at the new prize he had acquired. What were girls always making such a big deal about? Surely Granger had plenty more panties.

AN: quite rushed but maybe I can go back and fix a few things later. I know Zabini is Italian but Blaise is French so I wanted to mix things up a bit.


End file.
